Right lads, it's June. The evenings are long, the pubs have the doors propped open, and trad sessions are sprouting up across the country like mushrooms after rain.
And for some reason, everyone wants ME there.
I've had invitations from sessions in Doolin, Kinvara, Dingle, Westport, Clifden — places I've never set foot in. The emails all say roughly the same thing: "Would you come start a Rattlin' Bog for us?" Like I'm some kind of professional bog-starter. Like there's a qualification for it. (There isn't. I checked.)
Last week alone I got seven invitations. SEVEN. Mick thinks this is hilarious. "You're like a wedding band now," he said. "Except worse, because you only know the one song." Cheers, Mick. Very supportive.
The truth is I'm chuffed. Absolutely chuffed. A year ago I was sitting in front of a dead website wondering if anyone remembered the song at all. Now I can't keep up with the session calendar.
I'm going to try to hit as many as I can this summer. I've got a spreadsheet going — my niece helped me set it up — with dates and locations and contact details. It looks very professional. Mick says I've "gone corporate." He can talk — the man hasn't updated his phone contacts since 2014.
If you're running a session this summer and you want a visit, drop me a line through the contact page. I can't promise I'll make it everywhere but I'll do my best. And if you're at a session somewhere in the west of Ireland and a slightly overwhelmed lad walks in and immediately asks for a pint before he's even sat down, that's probably me.
Summer is HERE, lads. Let's make it a good one.
Slan go foill, BogLord2002
P.S. — Rattlin' has been sleeping in the suitcase I left open in the spare room. I think she knows something's happening.